The Girl In The House

After getting three reviews that had the word creepy in the first sentance, I think my latest story is a success. I can't take full credit. It was inspired by a short story I read called Girl In The Attic. The story is different, but concept of a girl who died in her family home and is now haunting it is the same.

I am proud of this story, because it is my first stand alone short story (the other stories I have posted here are technicaly shor-short, or flash stories) Every other sotry I have writen I have come up with ways to continue or they were part of a larger project to begin with. While I have some ideas for more stories taking place in the same town as this one, they have nothing to do with this story :)

Warning, this is a long story. it is 6 pages double spaced in Microsoft Word. just thought I would warn you.

Enjoy.



The Girl In The House

Lance Landis enjoyed his evening run. Every day he would eat supper, put on his running cloths, kiss his wife good-bye and run for a few miles. He felt good keeping in shape, and while he would never even try to enter something like the New York Marathon, he had been in a few local ones. He even did reasonably good, placing second in last year’s 10K.

More then anything, he enjoyed the isolation. It was just himself. No telemarketers calling to try and sell him stuff he never wanted in the first place. No co-workers trying to talk him into joining the company softball team, no wife asking him what he thought of the latest decorating idea she saw in Better Homes. Just him. A chance to be alone, think about the day, think about the future. Sometimes think about nothing and just clear his mind.

Lance had chosen this route for that exact reason. True there were better paths then this nearly non-existent animal trail, but none were as isolated. He had tried running in the park, but the sound of passing cars and the people walking past annoyed him. Out here, there was nothing except the sound of the wind and an occasional animal to keep him company.

The only real down side he could think of was the fact that it gets dark, and with no streetlights to light the path, it some times became hard to follow. Several times, as the days grew shorter, he had come home in darkness, barely able to see the trail and guided only by the porch light as he exited the trail and found himself in his own back yard.

That and the house.

Lance shivered as he drew closer to it. Having lived his entire life in this town, he had heard the story. Fifty years ago, this house was the site of tragedy. He had only been five then, but he vaguely remembered his parents discussing it at the dinner table the night after the police issued a statement.

The house belonged to the Ullrich’s. Fifty years ago, Old Man Ullrich went crazy and killed his wife and two sons before going after his daughter, Lyne. She managed to get away and locked herself in the attic, barricading the door so he couldn’t break it down. As he beat on the door, she realized she was trapped. She could jump, but the fall would probably kill her. In the end, as her father beat on the door trying to get in, she broke a window and used a shard of glass to slash her wrists. As she lay dieing, she wrote on the floor with her own blood what had happened. She knew that her father would never let her out of the house alive, and choose to end her life rather then die slowly of dehydration or starvation.

As her life left her, she wrote that her father had broken in. Seeing his daughter close to death, he dipped his finger in her blood and wrote a curse. Because she had been selfish and chosen to die apart form her family, she would haunt the attic for all eternity. After he was done, he put the barrel of his shotgun in his mouth and pulled the trigger, splattering his brains against the ceiling. The officer that found them threw up as he entered the room.

Since then the legend had grown. Anyone caught in the attic on the anniversary of the murders would join Lyne in the attic. Lights would be seen in the house, as well as shouting and the sounds of gunfire. People believed the legends, and every year some kids would try their luck, entering the house for a good scare.

Of course Lance didn’t believe the legends. Just superstition and nonsense. He was a well-educated, intelligent man. The only time he had for local folklore was while sitting around the campfire, passing a bottle of Jack around.

Still, the house gave him chills every time he saw it. Maybe it was his subconscious buying into the stories. Maybe it was just the fact that it was an abandoned house on an isolated trail. Whatever the reason, Lance tried to be past the house long before night fell. Unfortunately this night he was not so lucky. A conversation with his brother Ivan had kept him inside longer then he wanted and now he was running faster in the hopes of making up time.

As Lance drew closer, he glanced up at the attic window and stopped. In the window he could make out a girl, pounding against the glass. No doubt some stupid kid who was freaking out after her friends abandoned her. Gathering his courage Lance entered the house to help.

The house was dark and Lance cursed beneath his breath. His Mag-Light had been growing dim for some time, but he kept forgetting to change the batteries. Now, as he entered the house he turned it on to find the batteries completely dead. Slowly he made his way towards the stair and walked up them, yelling to the girl that he was there to help. The old boards creaked underneath him, adding to the creepiness of the house. In the dieing light of the setting sun, Lance thought he saw undisturbed dust on the stairs, but he ignored it. Obviously just his mind playing tricks on him.

He reached the top of the stairs and could see a broken door; it’s hinges barely hanging onto the doorframe, at the end of the hallway. Past the door he could just make out the form of a girl in a dress.

He walked towards the room, calling to the girl, the floorboards continuing to creak underneath him. For some reason she didn’t seem to hear him. As he entered the room, he could see the blood stains on the floor. Due to the growing shadows, he could see, but not read the words she had written as she slowly bled to death.
As he drew closer to the girl, he saw that she was wearing a red dress, in an older style. Ignoring it, he reached out to her, gently putting his hand on her shoulder so as not to startle her. She turned, reaching up and touching his hand. Her touch was ice cold. What little light there was fell on her and he drew back in horror. On her wrist was a gaping wound, jagged, with dried blood.

Lance ran out of the room, with gruesome specter following him. He looked back to see her drawing closer as he reached the top of the stairs. Still looking back, he missed the top step and fell.

He landed at the bottom of the stairs and heard something snap. He tried to stand, but couldn’t feel anything below his legs. Lance began to slowly drag himself towards the door. He was almost there. He looked back and saw the spirit drawing closer. Lance reached towards the door, as everything faded to black.



One Year Later

Katie Basso enjoyed her evening run. Every day she would eat supper, put on her running cloths, kiss her dog good-bye and run for a few miles. She felt good keeping in shape, and while she hadn’t done too well in the New York Marathon, she had done better in a few smaller ones. She even did reasonably good, placing second in last year’s 12K.

She couldn’t help but smile as she ran. When her company told her that she was being transferred to Pine Creek, she had been mad. After spending all her life in New York, she didn’t think she could adjust to life in a smaller city. But after a few weeks, she had learned about this isolated animal trail and fallen in love. Nothing in NYC could match this. Everywhere she had tried running she had encountered cars or other people. Here, she was isolated; alone. And she liked it that way.

As much as she had hated Pine Creek when she first moved here, she had fallen in love with the small town. She had made friends, and for the first in her life could see herself settling own and raising a family here. She had thought about asking Thor to move here so that they could be closer. Their long distance relationship could only last so long, but at the moment he was happy working for the Times. Until something opened up in the Pine Creek Gazette, she would have to be happy with seeing him on weekends.

Probably the best friend she had made was her neighbor, Wendy Landis. She had been the one who told her about this trail. Her husband used to love running, and had taken this trail almost every day. After finishing her runs in Wendy’s back yard, they would sit on the porch, drink a few glasses of wine, and talk about life.

Katie knew that Wendy missed her husband; they had known each other since grade school and had been married for about three years when he died. According to Wendy, he had been found in an abandoned house along the trail. Why he was in there, no one knew. Apparently he had fallen down the stairs leading to the top floor and broken his back. He had also broken several ribs, which punctured his internal organs. He had tried to get outside, and had died half way through the door. The official cause: internal bleeding.

Of course Wendy had told her the stories about the house, and how some people thought that it had been Lyne Ullrich that had killed her husband. Neither of them believed the stories. They were intelligent, well educated women. They had no time for folk tales and local legends.

Still, as she ran past the house, a cold chill ran down Katie’s spine. She had run past the house before, but never this late in the day, with shadows this long. The house looked creepy, and she could understand why people thought it was haunted. The fact that Lance had died a year ago today didn’t help any either.

As she ran past, Katie looked up. In the attic window, she thought she saw a man, screaming for help. Behind him was a woman in a red dress.